A/N: Well, sorry it's so late again, but what can you do. XD This is where Wallie figures out his first case. I hope I write it alright . . . guess the murderer if you want to.
"I don't care what you think as long as it's about me . . ."
-Fall Out Boy
File 4: The Gloves
Inspector Russ and the police got here just a couple minutes after the shots were fired. The police station is right down the street.
"All right, the victim is twenty-eight year old John Roscavar, shot six times until dead during a planned blackout. We've caught the person who was fooling around with the lights at the time of the murder. Twenty-six year old Hayden Corwell, a new employee here, assisted the crime, but he currently refuses to say who actually committed it," Inspector Russ says gruffly.
"Couldn't he have just killed the lights and shot the victim himself?" Someone asks from the crowd.
"No, it's impossible," Russ replies. " There's no way he could've fired the gun at the victim right after the lights went out because he was in the basement. We even caught him in there, hiding. That leaves everyone upstairs. Someone in this Café has to be guilty."
This deduction causes the room to erupt.
"I have to get to my night job!" a man yells.
"My curfew's almost up!" a high schooler whines.
"I have to pick up my daughter from daycare!"
"We're innocent!"
"Let us go!"
"Quiet!" The Inspector shouts. Silence falls over the Café instantly. "I don't want to be here any more than you. Just cooperate with us, and we should be able to narrow down the suspects. We're going to try and get the innocent out of here as soon as we can."
I decide that it's time to help out a little.
"Inspector Russ," I step forward. "I have already narrowed it down."
He looks at me and blinks. "Who the hell are you?"
"One of the suspects." I shrug and manage a laugh.
"Wallie," Penny hisses, "what are you doing?"
"Solving a case. You don't want to be stuck here forever, do you?"
She falls silent as I walk towards the victim's table. The guy's body is draped across the table, pretty much untouched. I have to admit, I've never seen a dead person before, and it isn't exactly pretty. Kind off . . . scary, actually. I'm glad I just have to write about this stuff. This is going to be a one-time thing.
"This man was shot six times by that gun, and after the culprit ran out of ammo they tossed their gloves and the gun, correct?"
"Yeah," Russ grumbles, "but how does that narrow things down? Get to the point."
"The victim was shot by someone in the round room. Everyone else is definitely innocent."
"What?" But couldn't someone from the main room have run this way, shot him, tossed the weapon, and run back?"
I step on the wood floor in front of the victim and smile as it creaks under my weight.
"Of course not. There wasn't any noise. The floor doesn't creak where the carpet is, for starters, and there was no way he was shot from the back. There are bullet holes in the glass in the front of the shop to prove it."
The Inspector says nothing for a second, then he looks up.
"That deduction of yours is fine and everything, but who was sitting in the round room?"
"My friend and I were sitting at this table here," I point at the table stacked with textbooks and notes, "those three girls were sitting at this table next to it," I place a hand on theirs and they glare at me, "and someone was sitting at the table over there. I couldn't see who it was, though, because the girls were blocking my view. Do any of you–"
"Those two men dressed in black over there," Renata points. "They were in the round room, too."
I turn to get a look at them and almost yelp. They're dressed in black, alright. They're the spitting image of the creepers in my dreams. My heart pounds a little faster. I really hope I can finish up this case fast.
I try to catch my breath and I nod. "Yeah, everyone else can go."
There is a jovial response from everyone else in the Café, and the innocent rush to the front counter to pay.
"Hold it!" The Inspector yells. "We need to get your names and a way to contact each of you before you go! Hey, are you listening?"
Twenty-seven complaints, twenty-seven names, and thirty minutes later, it's just the police, Penelope, me, a bloody corpse, and the suspects. Time to figure this murder out.
"Now, what did you say your name was again, kid?" The Inspector asks me.
"I'm Wallie–"
Penelope nudges me.
"Wallace Doyle, and I'm sixteen years old. I was here studying for finals with my friend Penelope Burlough." If I've got to say mine, then the Inspector can learn Penelope's name, too.
Russ turns to Penny. "That you?"
"Yes. I'm fifteen." I feel her nudge me again, but I just glare back. Even if I solve this right, I'd still get in trouble for driving without a real license.
"Okay. Do either of you know this guy?" Russ asks. We shake our heads.
"Nope."
"No, all I picked up was that his name was John when he came in. He was fighting with that girl over there. Your name's Anita, right?" I say.
The girl in the antique dress jumps and looks at me. "Wh-who . . . how do you know that?" She says wide-eyed.
"I heard Renata call you that when you came in."
"Hey, how do you know my name?" Renata demands.
"I deduced it when the waiter called your friend Katherine. He said all your names when he greeted you. A friend?"
"A friend? Duh!" Katherine yells. "He was the one who blacked out the lights!"
"Really? That was Hayden Corwell? Interesting," I remark smiling. This is really starting to come together.
"Wait, wait, wait," The Inspector holds up a hand. "Slow down. You three, tell me your names and ages, as well as your relationship with both Hayden Corwell and John Roscavar."
"Hey, how long do we have to stay here?" The taller of the two men speaks up.
"Just cooperate and you'll be out of here soon," Russ growls. "Who's first?"
Anita steps forward first. "I'm Anita Moxy, and I'm twenty-seven years old. Hayden Corwell was one of my little sister's best friends in high school, and we all hang out at parties and stuff. And as for John Roscavar . . ." she trails off.
"Go on." Inspector Russ prods her. Shakily, she takes a deep breath.
"Inspector," Anita looks up at him pleadingly, "please don't count this against me in any way, because I can assure you we're all innocent, but John was my ex. We met in college."
"Hmm . . . well, you're still a suspect no matter what you say, but this could be a pretty big motive."
"I know, I know!" Anita cries. Tears are welling up in her eyes. "But I never would've killed him! I still liked him . . . we were just . . . having problems."
Katherine snorts.
"You?" The Inspector turns to her.
"The name's Katherine Moxy, twenty-five years old, younger sister of Anita Moxy. Like she said, Hayden was a close friend in high school, and now we all hang out. Or at least we did until he decided to get stupid. I never really knew that Roscavar character all that well, though. Anita just brought him home one day and introduced us. He really was a jerk, though. Sorry Anita."
Anita sniffs and wipes her eye with a gloved hand. Russ seems to notice their clothes for the first time.
"Why are you all dressed up?"
"We're big fans of old clothes. We like to dress up for the fun of it," Renata answers.
"How come she's wearing normal clothes?" Russ points at Katherine.
"I didn't feel like it today," she snaps tartly.
"Okay . . . um . . . would you like to go next . . . um . . ."
"Renata Andres, twenty-seven years old. I'm Anita's best friend. I know Hayden through Katherine, just like Anita, and my relationship with her ex was to keep the jerk from hurting my best friend."
At this point, I'm bored to tears by all this interrogation junk. It's going nowhere. I wander off to the spot on the floor where the gun and gloves were tossed. Penelope notices and follows me.
"Wallie, what are you doing now?"
"I'm trying to figure out who the gun and the gloves belong too. It wasn't all that smart for them to just chunk them like this, but then again, the person who committed this crime was one of those dumb girls anyway." I squat down beside the weapon.
"What makes you sure?" Penny glares at me.
"For one thing, the accomplice got caught easily. The murderer must have known that this might happen, because they got the guy to keep from telling. The only way they could've done that was if they'd known the guy fairly well, and those two men in black don't know him." Hmm . . . there really doesn't seem to be anything fishy about the weapon or the gloves. I continue looking anyway.
"How do you know that?"
"I don't. Just assuming."
"You are a really sloppy detective, you know that?"
"Yup," I laugh, "it's a good thing this was a really sloppy–" I gasp. Man, that reeks! What in the world is that smell? I cover my nose and back away from the weapon.
"What is it?" Penny asks.
"Do you smell that?"
Penelope bends down to get a whiff of the evidence and immediately shrinks back.
"Woah, it smells like someone dumped a whole bottle of perfume on those gloves! Why did they even need gloves? It's not like they were firing close range and didn't want to get blood on them! They would've needed more than gloves for that!"
"They did it so their fingerprints couldn't be identified on the gun. It was to keep from being found out. Yeah, it's either perfume or . . ." I stop and smile. "I may be a sloppy detective, but the murderer was even sloppier! I just figured out this case. I'm a genius!"
Penelope glowers at me, unimpressed. "Whatever, Mr. Detective. Just tell the police what you found out so we can get out of here."
A/N: Okay, I'd really appreciate hearing your guesses on who the murderer is. And no, it's not the BO. XD Well, next chapter is the last of his time as a high schooler. I make it terrible. XD
